


Shubunkin

by lindsey_grissom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Wikipedia isn't a proper source Gregory, goldfish doesn't always mean goldfish, the author indulges in a little drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: In which Mycroft and Lestrade enjoy a break from their everyday madness and a fish is perhaps not just a fish.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing this pairing, just a little thing but I did so enjoy playing with these two.
> 
> Set sometime during series 3. No spoilers for anything else.

  
"It's a goldfish, Inspector." Mycroft says to the thoughtful silence emanating from his guest chair.

He looks up from his laptop at the noncommittal hum he receives in response; absently noting Lestrade's abandoned tea cup balanced on the edge of his desk, the little ring of condensation around the bottom. It'll leave a mark.

“What is it?”

"I've just never thought of you as a pet person, Mycroft." Lestrade shrugs, leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs. "I'm reevaluating."

Mycroft scoffs, returning the majority of his attention back to his report. "In that case you needn't trouble yourself. It was a gift." He waves a hand in a lazy whirl, another part of his once affected nature that is becoming more real by the year. "I am as I've ever been."

Another hum pulls Mycroft's attention again.

The Inspector shifts forward in his chair, running a finger along the rim of the fish bowl. "I didn't think Sherlock gave you anything but trouble."

Mycroft gives the joke the reaction due to it; a slight roll of his eyes. "I do not believe I said it was from my brother, Inspector."

Lestrade huffs. "Detective, me." Mycroft doesn't have to be looking at him to see the thumb he points at himself and the country-bumpkin look on his face. "I deduced it."

"It could have been from a friend." A less enlightened man would wonder why he was continuing this farce of a conversation, Mycroft knows exactly why he's doing it. The Inspector will return to the Yard soon enough, Mycroft has no interest in speeding his exit along.

Tapping once on the side of the glass, Lestrade leans back in his chair and raises a fisted hand, fingers extending as he counts. "One, as you continue to inform me, you don't have friends, Mycroft. You have colleagues, acquaintances, minions--ah, no shush, no interrupting--, your assistants and whatever you might classify the Queen as." ("My Monarch, Inspector.") "But none of them would buy you a goldfish."

Mycroft nods in agreement, tipping the screen of his laptop down; no longer bothering to pretend he isn't completely focused on Lestrade.

“Two;" Lestrade continues. "I didn't buy you the fish.”

Mycroft resists the 'obviously' on the tip of his tongue, knowing it would make him sound far too much like his brother for him to stomach.

"Three; your parents -- oh sod it, I'm not Sherlock!" Lestrade shakes his head with a laugh, lowering his hand slightly to point at Mycroft. "You know I'm right, I know I'm right, no need for the theatrics."

Mycroft bites the inside of his cheek to stop his own smile, shaking his head with a sigh. "And you were doing so well." He pauses while Lestrade stares at him. He waits until he hears the click of the man's back teeth before confirming. "It was of course from Sherlock."

“Hah! Detective.”

“So you've said.”

“What I don't know is why.”

There are many 'why's; why did Sherlock send him a gift, why a goldfish, why did Mycroft keep it -- on his desk no less -- but he knows the Inspector is asking after only the first two. Lestrade has been around he and Sherlock long enough now to know that Mycroft throws nothing away given to him by his brother, no matter what it may be.

"A joke, I believe. A reference to a conversation I honestly expected him to have deleted seconds after we had it."

Lestrade's smile is softer than his words, crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Sherlock has a sense of humour?"

Mycroft allows his lip to lift on one side. "He seems to think so. Perhaps he picked it up on his travels?"

"God help us all!" His smile is full as Lestrade laughs and slaps a hand down on his thigh, rising to his feet.

Mycroft moves to follow, but Lestrade waves him back in place. "No you stay there, I can see myself out. Been here often enough." He looks around at the windowless walls of the latest of what he calls Mycroft's 'boltholes'. "Still prefer the old place. Don't know how you bear it; a man needs real light, Mycroft. I'd go mad."

"Perhaps that explains it then." He only has a few more months here, before he'll move onto another office in another building. Another official title and address on his business cards. He must remember to let his assistant know to ensure it has windows. Lestrade is not alone in his wish for a view.

Lestrade gives another laugh and Mycroft feels more than a little pride at how often he can garner that response from the man.

The inspector pauses on his way out, obviously mulling something over in his head. His eyes glance again towards the fish bowl and then back to Mycroft, a deep breath indicating he has come to some kind of decision before he pulls his phone from his pocket and takes a picture of the fish. He nods once, tucks his phone away and turns for the door.

"See you next week Mycroft. Thanks for the tea."

He's gone before Mycroft can reply.

He sits for a moment, pulling his eyes from the door only to watch his fish as it swims about the bowl. He really should consider a proper tank for the thing, if he intends to keep it here.

An hour and three reports later, Mycroft's phone pings with a message and he picks it up, holding his thumb and forefingers against the hidden sensors to unlock it.

He finds a short message from Lestrade with a photo of his fish attached.

**Sources say its a Shubunkin. London variety. Not surprised he found u a rare goldfish**

_Graham_ , Sherlock called it when he dropped it off, Mycroft recalls. He taps out a quick reply, saving the picture and message.

_**Wikipedia is not a source** _

His phone pings again while still in his hand.

**Welcome to the 21st century, Mr Holmes**

Mycroft smiles, switching off his phone. The Shubunkin is a bright flash at the corner of his eye as he resumes working, catching his attention at intervals throughout the day and reminding him of his mid-morning visitor.

Perhaps his brother had not meant it as a joke after all.

A rare goldfish. It's certainly something to consider.

 


End file.
